He was tall. Sandy colored hair that had a slight wave and poetically handsome, A Byron, a Shelley, an Ashley Wilkes.
I should have known when he said, “A movie’s too long; I don’t like miniature golf; I’ve had enough coffee today. Let’s just go for a drive.”
I should have known when he left the convenience store with a six-pack of beer.
I should have known when he parked the car he would want more than a kiss.
I should have known that after I told him, “No. Take me home,” he would not call again.
the brightest shade of red
on poison ivy
A Hundred Gourds